


Fleeting Memories

by JunkArtist



Category: DCU (Comics), Spectre (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunkArtist/pseuds/JunkArtist
Summary: Jim Corrigan and the Spectre learn things about each other through their dreams that they wouldn't speak aloud.
Kudos: 7





	1. Fleeting Memories ~ Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very loosely inspired by the tail end of _The Spectre_ vol. 1 and takes place in an alternate universe with patchwork events from different elements of canon.
> 
> Happy birthday to Jim Corrigan, and here's to another 80 years of comics.

"Gwen, there's someone I really wanted you to meet before our big day."

A hooded figure stood next to Jim Corrigan, his cloak draped so completely around his body that the only skin you could see was his snow-white face. He was like a shadow that was cast over the rest of Corrigan's apartment, especially in contrast to the sunny expression on Corrigan's face.

"This is the Spectre," Corrigan said, putting a hand on the spirit's shoulder. "I figured it'd be important for you two to get acquainted." The Spectre's eyes widened with a blank expression. He turned his head to Corrigan to ask something, but Corrigan gave him a flustered look, as if he didn't understand what the problem was. The Spectre didn't say a word.

"Well, how do you do, Mister Spectre?" Gwen said, extending a hand for him to shake. 

Again, the Spectre looked at Corrigan with confusion. This time Corrigan, responded. " _Well, go on. Shake her hand!_ " he hissed under his breath.

The Spectre reluctantly pulled a hand out from under his cloak for her, moving as little as possible in the process. She gripped it firmly and confidently, looking him in the eyes with no fear. In fact, there was warmth in them. A warmth directed _at_ him. It made him feel uneasy. No one had ever looked at him that way before.

"Jim, he's not going to wear that at the wedding, is he?" Gwen quietly asked.

"Gwen, he's standing right here. Even if he wasn't, he could probably still hear you," Corrigan said. "But I wouldn't worry too much about that. He can make himself look however he wants. Isn't that right?" Corrigan turned his head toward the Spectre, looking for a response.

"I would actually prefer to look this way..." the Spectre said, his voice trailing off.

Gwen gave a look of disapproval. Before she could say anything, Corrigan cut in. "Gwen, I'm sure it'll be fine. I know Spec's a little... _eccentric_ , but it means a lot to me to have him there and I don't think it'll be that bad if he wears it. After all, he saved our lives, so I think we owe to him, don't we?"

"Well," Gwen mused, softly biting her lip. "I know my mother won't like it much, but I suppose you _are_ right. There wouldn't be a wedding without him."

Corrigan smiled again. The Spectre's nose crinkled. Was this what he had interrupted? Was Corrigan _really_ this happy before him...?

"Jim, do you think I could see them again?" Gwen asked.

"The rings? Of course," Corrigan said. He turned to the Spectre. "Could you?" 

The Spectre stared at Corrigan for a moment. "...What?" he said.

"The rings, Spec. You were supposed to watch them, remember?" The Spectre was still drawing a blank. "That's what the best man's supposed to do."

The Spectre shook off his own discomfort and decided to do what Corrigan asked his own way. He held out his hand, clenched into a fist. When he opened it, a pair of rings appeared in his palm. Gwen was entranced by how they shone, and couldn't take her eyes off them.

"Oh my..." she said, putting her hand over her mouth. "Those aren't... But Jim, they're so beautiful...!" She took the more delicate of the two rings and held it up to her eyes, admiring it more closely. She move over to Jim and embraced him, gently resting her head on his shoulder, but turning it toward the Spectre. "Thank you so much," she said to both of them.

The Spectre's lip twitched as he watched Corrigan hold her tighter. They almost seemed to melt into each other. 

None of it was real. He knew that much. But he wished it could have been, for Corrigan's sake.


	2. Fleeting Memories ~ Of Brimstone

Jim Corrigan stood in the shadow of a massive figure. Even sitting with his legs crossed, his head was five times higher up than Corrigan's. Flames danced around the large cavern. They were both close to the edge of a rocky outcropping that circled around the room, jutting out to where they were. Beneath the ledge was a pit of bones -- _human_ bones, Jim noted. And they smelled faintly of sulfur. 

The poor lighting barely revealing any of the being's face. A mask of shadows covered it from the tip of his nose up. Jim knew him, though. Or at least, he _thought_ he knew him. The green cloak, intimidating hood, and impossibly pale skin were unmistakable, but the wings? Those were new. They looked almost like a dove's, but tattered and frayed.

"Spec... tre...?"

"Corrigan...?" The figure turned his head toward Jim. His jaw hung loose enough that Jim could see his teeth -- see a mouth embellished by a massive set of fangs. Just enough of his glowing eyes were visible that Jim watched them change into an expression of concern. "Is something wrong?"

Jim's mouth moved, as if he was trying to speak, but no sound came out. He wasn't even sure what to say.

"I thought you were used to me making myself this size by now," the Spectre -- if it was indeed him -- said.

"It's not that, it's..."

"It's what?"

"It's... _fangs_."

"Fangs?" The way his brow rose made Jim loosen up slightly. The Spectre didn't make expressions like that around anyone else, and he didn't think a monster impersonating him would react that way either. "Corrigan, what are you talking about? I've always had fangs."

Jim blinked. He still looked uneasy, but now it was less discomfort and more confusion. Something was wrong, but he didn't want to press further, so he decided to change the subject instead. 

"Where are we?" Jim asked.

"Hell."

It was stated so matter-of-factly that Jim shook. "Wha--? Why am I here? Am I here for... for _punishment_?"

The Spectre dismissed him with a snort. "Not _yours_ ," he said. "You said you would help me."

"Help you with _what_?"

"You just said what. Punishment." Jim was following, but he didn't want to follow. "You have so many _colorful_ ideas, Corrigan. More than any other mortal I've met. Sometimes I almost run out of ideas, but we always think of the best ones _together_. Remember what we did to that barber? With the scissors?" There was almost a twinkle in the Spectre's eyes. He was clearly remembering something fondly, and expecting Jim to share the same sentiment.

"Well, I mean..." Jim's voice trailed off. He remembered clear as day. He remembered what he did was horrible. But on the other, what that _barber_ did was horrible. And most importantly, he remembered how _good_ it felt to slice that man in half. The satisfaction he felt cutting through him. He felt like he should have been ill thinking about that, but it was the right thing to do. The right thing in that moment.

"Yeah. I guess... I guess that was kinda enjoyable." He was embarrassed to say it and shaky getting it out, but the Spectre smiled, revealing those huge fangs.

"Good. I was almost afraid you weren't going to help," the Spectre said. "Sometimes you just get... _uncomfortable_ when I'm invested in my work."

Work. That's right. The Spectre always saw it as his nine-to-five.

"Anyway, now that that's all settled... **bring one of the sinners in**!"

The Spectre's voice was like thunder, shaking the entire cavern. In hindsight, Jim was a bit surprised that all of his words didn't feel like that, considering that was usually a package deal with making himself fifty feet tall. In response to the Spectre's summons, a short figure -- it looked like some sort of imp -- walked through the entrance to the cavern opposite them, carting around a tall cargo trolley. On the trolley was a man, dressed in what Jim recognized as a bellhop uniform, tightly bound to it by chains that restrained every part of him. His head could still move freely, but it was still out of fear.

" _Yes..._ " the Spectre hissed, locking eyes with the man. "I need no more than glance at your soul to know what it hides. I'm sure you can't even remember how many lives you've taken, so there's no need for me to pry further. A woman stole your heart once, but refused to share her own. So in return, you took it. And it was intoxicating. So intoxicating that you had to have more..."

Sweat rolled down the man's face. There was no color in it. He already knew what was going to happen to him.

"Az, what's the mortal doing here?" the imp said curiously. "Why haven't y--"

" ** _SILENCE!_** "

Jim's heart skipped a beat. The cavern shook even harder this time, and bits of stone were thrown loose from the ceiling, landing in his hair.

"Corrigan is with **me**. Another word and I'll do to you what I did to Shathan."

The imp was just as shaken as the man. It took a long moment to collect itself before slowly scurrying out of the room, but the tension never left. Jim looked up at the Spectre, trying to break the mood. 

"What did you do to Shathan?" he asked.

The Spectre grinned at the comment. It was a story he clearly wanted to tell. "He was defiant and didn't do as I instructed, so I threw him into the fires of creation."

Jim's jaw dropped. "The fires of...? You mean like the--?"

"Yes," the Spectre said before he could finish. "Why is that so surprising? Corrigan, you of all people should know the kind of power I wield."

"I... I didn't think... I mean, that's..."

"Impressive?" the Spectre said with a sense of pride in his voice. "I'm sure Shathan thought so too."

Jim was pretty sure he wanted to say "impossible", but reflecting on it, maybe -- just _maybe_ \-- that wasn't a word he should use to describe anything the Spectre did.

"Now then," the Spectre said, interrupting Jim's train of thought. "What should we do about this excuse for a man?" He gestured toward frozen person chained to the trolley.

"Well..." Jim's mind wandered off. The Spectre looked at him, not with the look he'd given the man while glancing at his sins, but a look of anticipation. It made him a bit anxious. He had expectations to live up to now. "You said he stole hearts, right? Why don't we take his?" 

The Spectre seemed _very_ pleased by Jim's proposition. "Poetic," he said with a fanged smile. "Would you like to do the honors, Corrigan?"

"Me?" Jim said in disbelief. "Just me? Not... _us_?"

"I can't hold your hand forever, Corrigan," the Spectre said. "One day, you'll have to kill without me. Not in self-defense. The same we do when we're together."

"How? I can't do something like that without you."

"I'll lend you some of my power to do it. Enough to do _whatever_ you want with him."

Jim Corrigan nervously swallowed, but nodded, accepting the Spectre's wishes. As he walked toward the man, all the way around the rim of the cavern, his walk became more confident. More _powerful_. He felt almost the same way he did when they were acting together -- except it was _just_ the power. He was completely alone. He almost forgot the Spectre was still in the room looming over him, watching from behind with a look of anticipation.

Jim Corrigan pushed the man's fearful look out of his mind. He had to. He reached into the man's chest -- through his flesh, through the chains, without actually touching either -- and felt what he was looking for. It was beating quickly. Practically vibrating between his fingers.

With a heavy, stress-venting sigh, he pulled it out of the man's chest. There was no blood, but it was still beating. He clenched his fingers tighter, but they didn't want to move. He could feel the Spectre's eyes on the back of his head, watching in anticipation. He squeezed. Or at least, he tried to squeeze. His hands wouldn't let him. His _own_ heart wouldn't let him.

"I can't."

The Spectre frowned at the statement. Jim could feel his disappointment, but was surprised by how quickly it evaporated, replaced with a certain glee that kept making him uncomfortable, even though it shouldn't. A glee accompanied by a voice too soft for something that big.

"Then we will do it _together_."


	3. Fleeting Memories ~ Of a Past Self

Jim Corrigan's alarm went off at 6:30 sharp. It was a soothing tune. He was a morning person, and didn't need much wake himself up. Sometimes he didn't even need the reminder.

He had no issues getting himself out of bed and went into the bathroom. Memories flickered in and out of his mind, fleeting memories of the dreams he had during the night. Memories the Spectre was there for. It wasn't the first time it happened and it wasn't unusual. When it _had_ happened the first time, Jim asked the Spectre about it. That was back during the first month they'd been together, so it was hard just to get any words out of him, but after some pestering, the Spectre said it was normal. Because he was bound to Jim's soul, it was only natural that they would share dreams. That was something he had just gotten used to at this point. Besides that, he rarely remembered much about his dreams more than an hour or so after waking up. But right now, they were fresh in his mind, due in no small part to how lucid they were.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, rubbing his thumb across his chin and feeling a stubble he had to shave clean. His mouth opened wide for a yawn, making him feel a bit less tired. His vision wasn't as blurry now. When he looked into the mirror and locked eyes with himself, he saw more than just his own eyes. Not literally, but when he looked at himself while the Spectre was resting inside of him -- inside of his soul -- it was always more apparent that he was more than just himself.

"Spectre," he said in a firm tone. Jim was a morning person, but the Spectre wasn't. Jim could sense his hesitation to answer. That seemed very strange to Jim, especially considering the Spectre had explained to him before that he wasn't _literally_ sleeping. Not in the same sense that mortals did, anyway. But it still felt like he had something like the morning grogginess that a lot of mere mortals did. Like the Spectre didn't want to get out of bed. Whatever the case, though, he was clearly "awake" and Jim had his attention, but he wasn't going to respond unless he had a reason to. So Jim gave him one with a simple question.

"Who's 'Az'?"

 _Now_ he was "awake". It got the same sort of reaction out of him that a mother could get from their child by saying they slept in so late that they missed the bus to school. _"Where did you hear that?"_ he snapped into Jim's mind.

"In my dream last night," Jim said. "I think someone called you that. Some... some _thing_ might be more appropriate. I remember it looked like a demon."

_"Forget what you heard."_

"What?" Jim said. "But--"

_"I don't want to talk about it."_

Jim frowned into the mirror. He wasn't frowning at his reflection, he was frowning at the Spectre, who could surely see his expression through his own eyes, just as clearly as he could feel the emotions accompanying it.

"Fine..." Jim Corrigan relented. He didn't want to drop the subject. He was curious now -- _much_ more curious than he had been initially -- but he also remembered the only times in recent memory he'd almost been late to work were when he spent part of his morning trying to pry information out of that damned angel. Some questions would have to be asked another day.


End file.
